


Green Carnation

by HarveyDangerfield, LondonQueen001



Series: Pressed Flowers [1]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Canon Trans Character, First Kiss, Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 20:59:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11836950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyDangerfield/pseuds/HarveyDangerfield, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonQueen001/pseuds/LondonQueen001
Summary: Damien tries to be clever and confess his feelings for Hugo secretly in the best language he knows, but Hugo is no fool.





	Green Carnation

**Author's Note:**

> you should know that my writing partner and I both headcanon that Hugo is absolutely huge, at 6'8'' 
> 
> also, we're probably going to write more than one scene, this is more than likely going to be a series of oneshots

Damien didn’t really expect anybody else to understand the special kind of thrill that comes with opening one’s mailbox and finding a hand-written letter inside. The art has died with the advent of email, and while it is certainly more convenient, nothing beats the little tremor he gets in the back of his throat when he finds someone took the time to write him a letter. In this day and age, it’s more meaningful than ever. Looking back on it, his and Hugo’s little unspoken pact to write to one another despite living across the street from each other and each of them possessing the other’s phone number may have been a leading contributor to the feelings he harbored for the man.

 

No matter how many letters he got from the man, he never got used to the little tickle he feels in the hollow of his throat. When he’d gotten a letter from Hugo begging for his help to make him look presentable for the prom he’d volunteered to chaperone, Damien immediately wrote him back. Hugo had stepped right out of the front door when Damien walked across the street to put it in his mailbox, with a big bag of garbage in hand. They locked eyes, and without looking away, Damien opened the mailbox, put the letter inside, closed it, and turned away to go back to his house.

 

That gave Damien some time to prepare. He knew Hugo’s wardrobe by heart already, and gave him specific instructions on which pieces to bring, already putting thought into how he would style his hair and what pocket square from his personal collection he would loan to the man. He has fond memories of his own prom as he sorts through all the shades of the rainbow in his silk squares, and when he comes across a vivid green square, he gets an idea. What’s a prom without a corsage?

 

On the eve of the prom, Hugo arrives on time with all of his assigned clothing, pieces he never would have thought to pair together, himself. His darkest, wine-purple blazer, paired with black pants, a black vest he hasn’t worn since a wedding years ago, his “dress shoes with the points, you know the ones” and his light chartreuse dress shirt. Hugo had to google the word chartreuse.

 

Hugo knocks on Damien's door, two hard raps of the antique looking door knocker and waits. He checks the clothes in the bag he brought one more time to make sure he has everything. He can't believe how nervous he is. This is a high school prom, for Byron's sake. Not even his own, there's no reason to be nervous. But he is.

 

The door finally opens, as ominous as ever and he steps inside, allowing it to close behind him. He knows Damien is nearby but he waits for the man to make his usual entrance.

 

“There he is, the man of the hour!” Damien calls from the top of the stairs, his hand on the banister. “Come on up, there’s no time to lose.”

 

He leads Hugo into his bedroom, which is exactly as extravagant as the teacher expected. A four-poster bed with rich drapes tied to each post, set up on a small stage on one end of the room, a walk-in closet with more drapes and beads hanging in the archway, beside an identical archway with yet more drapes, pinned up to show the exquisite clawfoot bathtub freestanding in the center of the en suite, on a polished black marble floor. Damien moves to the ornate vanity table he has set up on the opposite wall, beside a couple giant standing armoires. Everything is in shades of black, dark mahogany, silver and red, including the brocade pouffe that Damien sits on at the vanity.

 

“Sit here,” he pats a second pouffe.

 

Hesitantly Hugo takes a seat on the pouffe, his back very straight and obviously a little uncomfortable. The place is so decadent and fancy he feels bad for wearing his shoes inside and he doesn't know where to put his hands.

 

"Your room is lovely," he says, knowing Damien designed it himself. "And thank you again, for agreeing to help me, I'm completely lost."

 

“I can tell,” Damien says, though not unkindly, as he inspects the man’s threadbare jacket. “I see you’re already wearing the shoes and trousers I requested- strip bare from the waist up, if you please.”

 

He’s pulling things out of drawers now, and turns back to Hugo to see he hasn’t moved, and looks nervous. “Is there a problem?”

 

"No. Not a problem," he says, but he's blushing and averting his eyes. "I just haven't been shirtless around anyone in a while. I guess I'm a little embarrassed, that's all." He does shrug out of his jacket and sets it neatly aside and unties his bow tie but hesitates when his hands reach his vest. "Could you turn around? Until I'm done?"

 

Damien wants to protest (mostly because he really wants to watch Hugo undress) but it’s impolite to insist. He finds it charming, how shy the man is, so he turns his face away and holds a hand up to the side of his face, so Hugo knows he isn’t peeking.

 

“Are you hiding something terrible under there?” he teases gently instead. “An embarrassing tattoo, perhaps?”

 

"Yes, in my wild and crazy youth as president of my high school and college chess clubs I went out and got a tattoo of a cartoon Morlock on my chest." he says, laughing a little at the absurdity of it. He takes off the vest and also sets it aside, then the button up shirt underneath. Finally he tugs off his undershirt and folds it up.

 

"Alright, you can turn around." he says, already feeling his face heat up again.

 

Damien tells himself not to react when he turns to look, he doesn’t want to make Hugo uncomfortable or embarrassed after all, by what Damien can only assume is either a hidden paunch under all those layers, or a body as skinny as his. Don’t react, he’d told himself, but the instant he lays eyes on Hugo’s naked torso, he immediately sucks in a breath, and his hand flies to his chest.

 

“You’re _ripped!”_ he blurts before he can stop himself, his eyes going wide. “You’re- I mean- I apologize-” he stammers, tapping his hand against his chest. He can’t quite manage to tear his eyes off the bronze valleys thick with hair, mapping Hugo’s body, even as he feels his ears going hot.

 

Hugo immediately covers his face with his hands, embarrassment too much to take. No one has seen him without a shirt in years and while he knows he doesn't look bad, exactly, it's still embarrassing to be so exposed and have someone comment on it.

 

"I work out, a little. Now and then. Just to keep in shape, I'm not like Craig." he says finally, uncovering his face enough to look at Damien.

 

Damien’s pose mirrors Hugo’s, his hands cupped around his mouth in surprise, eyes still wide. He finally manages to look up at Hugo’s face, and he gives a twittering, awkward laugh. Not like Craig indeed, Craig doesn’t have a stitch of hair anywhere on his body- and he should know, the man certainly flaunts around the cul-de-sac shirtless often enough. But it’s impolite of him to comment, he shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.

 

“Apologies for my outburst,” he says, opening Hugo’s bag and removing the shirt, fluffing it lightly to make sure there are no wrinkles. He holds it up to Hugo’s chest with a smile. “This color is gorgeous on you, why don’t you wear this shirt more often?” he asks as he sets it down on the vanity table so he can reach up and remove Hugo’s glasses.

 

"I don't really have anything to wear it with." Hugo answers, not moving except when Damien moves him or tells him to. "I think I put it away for a reason, maybe Victor said something about it, I'm not sure."

 

He finally puts the shirt on, glad for the chance to cover up. For the sake of propriety, and not wanting to crush the butterflies that erupted in his stomach when Damien looked at him, he chooses not to comment on how long it takes for Damien to actually hand him the shirt to put on.

 

The very thin, silky undershirt Damien had lent him (which, Hugo realizes, must be absolutely huge on the much smaller man for it to fit him snugly like it does) keeps Hugo’s body hair and nipples from snagging on any buttons or rubbing on the fabric. Damien waits patiently for Hugo to finish buttoning his shirt, but stops him from buttoning the cuffs. “Don’t do that yet,” he says, lifting the dark, dark plum purple blazer he’d asked Hugo to bring out of the bag.

 

“Don’t have anything to wear it with my nose,” he says, shaking the stiffness out of the jacket. “This is gorgeous. I’ve only ever seen you wear this once.” he helps Hugo slip his arms through the sleeves, and then rolls up the ends of the coat sleeves a couple times to the middle of Hugo’s forearms, following it with the shirt cuffs, folding them up and over the jacket cuffs, tucking them inside.

 

The watch comes out next, the silver one Hugo makes excuses not to wear because of how expensive it is. “All the other chaperones are going to want to dance with you,” he jokes as he clips the watch over Hugo’s thick wrist. “Did you get many dances at your prom?”

 

Hugo shakes his head, watching Damien's thin, elegant fingers locking the watch into place. It shouldn't feel as intimate as it does but he swears he jumps a little when the other man's fingers brush against his wrist. Must be because it tickled.

 

"I didn't go to my prom actually. I didn't have a date." he answers. "What about you?"

 

“You _didn’t?”_ Damien looks up at Hugo, he looks genuinely shocked. “You weren’t interested in anybody? Surely it couldn’t have been that nobody was interested in you, look at you.” his teeth click together as he realizes he’s done it again. Lord above, he hopes he isn’t making the poor man uncomfortable.

 

Hugo is about two seconds away from getting second degree burns from how hot his face is now. "I was interested in someone. But he was straight, and even if he wasn't, I wasn't out in high school. I did get a few invitations from girls but I told them all I was too busy to go."

 

Damien shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s such a shame,” he says, standing up to get at Hugo’s hair, chuckling to himself over the fact that he has to stand up to be almost level with Hugo when he’s sitting down. He’ll never get over how _tall_ Hugo is. He takes the bun out of his hair and begins to shake his fingers through the dark brown curls to fluff them all loose. “Your prom is supposed to be a fond memory that you carry for the rest of your life. Do you remember what the theme was of yours?”

 

"Hollywood, I think?" he says. His eyes slip closed as Damien plays with his hair. It feels nice. Maybe he should ask him to do his hair more often if he's going to run his fingers through it like that. "Like, Oscars night I think. They were talking about having categories like best hair and best smile they would award like the show before they gave out prom king and queen."

 

“You would have won best eyes,” he says, smiling down at Hugo, a little bit lost in the dark cobalt blue of his eyes. He clears his throat and turns around, grabbing a small jar of pomade. “My prom was a masquerade, carnival themed. It was very theatrical and extravagant. Goodness, and the _dress_ I wore. Looking back on it, I don’t know what I was thinking, but I was seventeen and couldn’t foresee another time I’d have a chance to wear a ballgown. I couldn’t even sit down in a chair all night.”

 

"I bet you looked stunning. I would have loved to see it." He looks up to smile at Damien. "Did you make the dress yourself or buy it somewhere? Did you go with a date?"

 

Damien rubs some of the pomade between his palms. “I bought it, but made edits to it myself. The skirt was made of layers of black taffeta ruffles,” he laughs, clearly embarrassed by the memory. “And the bodice was iridescent red with a magenta shimmer, so I bought fabric that matched that and made a dozen little fabric roses to stick all over the bodice and skirt. It was such a trainwreck of a dress, but when I made it I was so proud of it and I felt so beautiful,” he laughs to himself as he begins to run his hands through Hugo’s hair.

 

“I did have a date, yes. The most ridiculous boy, looking back on it. His name was Samuel and I thought I was in love with him. He was such a jerk, but I was blind and young, you know how that is. He was _grunge_. If you don’t know, the feud between the goth and grunge scenes is as old as it is ridiculous. He was so pretentiously disheveled.”

 

"I'm afraid you completely lost me at 'magenta shimmer' when it comes to the dress but I'm sure you looked beautiful." Hugo laughs. He relaxes a little and closes his eyes, smiling as Damien fixes his hair. "I'm sorry about your date. I don't know much about grunge beyond what you can learn from a Nirvana album. I was as much a nerd in high school and beyond as I am now. I wore a bowtie to my first day of college orientation."

 

“You wore a bowtie?” Damien seems thrilled by that, grinning from ear to ear as he works the wax through Hugo’s hair. Words can’t express how charmed he is by this man. “So who is the first boyfriend or girlfriend you had, then? Did you never date a girl, or did you try and realize it didn’t fit?”

 

Hugo sighs. "I knew I was gay fairly early on. Being on the wrestling team in middle school helps you figure that sort of thing out pretty quickly. But for my parents' sake I tried dating a few girls in high school. I suppose I was trying to convince myself I might be bi and just hadn't been as physical with girls so I didn't know. But after I ran away from my second girlfriend when she tried to unzip my pants I was fairly sure. I convinced her it was because I was religious and wanted to wait for marriage which saved me the trouble of breaking up with her. She wasn't the waiting type. I didn't have my first real boyfriend until college."

 

“Was it magical, or a trainwreck?” Damien asks, wiping his hands off on a towel and breaking up the rest of the stickiness on his hands with hand sanitizer. He sits back down and grabs a stick of dark brown eyeliner, reaching up for Hugo’s eyes. When the man sits back in alarm, he says, “I promise I’ll only use a little. It will make your eyes pop, I swear.” he gently pulls down Hugo’s eyelid and works as delicately as possible to line his waterline.

 

"That feels really really weird." Hugo says, trying to be as still as possible for fear of having his eye poked with the sharp looking pencil. "My first boyfriend... it was magical just to have a boyfriend I suppose. Looking back on it, if I ignore the haze of nostalgia it was a very boring relationship but the fact that it was my first with a boy made it special."

 

Damien smiles fondly. “I know what you mean. The first time I started dating a boy after starting my transition in college- it felt like something entirely different and special, despite dating boys all through high school and early college. Finally finding your identity for the first time and feeling validated in it- there’s truly nothing like it.”

 

He sets down the eyeliner, and now that Hugo’s hair has had a little time to set, he runs a comb through it, sculpting it into a gorgeous swooping coif. He steps back, smiling in satisfaction, and steps out of the way, letting Hugo grab his glasses and see what Damien’s done in the mirror.

 

Hugo puts on his glasses and takes a moment to examine his new look. "Wow. You're really good at this." He says, turning his head to the side to check a new angle. "I can't believe you managed to make me look this good. You should do this professionally."

 

His hair is more tamed than he can ever remember it being, looking stylish and elegant for once. And Damien had been right about the eyeliner. Uncomfortable as it had been his eyes did pop. Together with the outfit he looked better than he could ever remember.

 

Damien is beaming with pride as he folds a light green silk pocket square a few shades darker than his shirt into three peaks and tucks it into the pocket of Hugo’s blazer, adjusting it to make sure it sits perfectly. “There’s only one element left. Wait here.”

 

He’s gone in a flash, rushing back downstairs to the kitchen, where he grabs the last touch that inspired this whole look. Clutching the plastic container in both hands, he returns to the bedroom and sets it down on the vanity, opening the lid with a plastic crunch. Inside sits a beautiful corsage, stems wrapped in silk, precisely the same shade of eggplant as the blazer. The little springs of stark white gypsophila surround the centerpiece- a gorgeous bright green carnation in full bloom. Knowing what he knows about flowers makes this feel private and special, like he’s whispering a treasured secret to the ether.

 

Damien steps back to admire the full look, and feels his heart leap into his chest. “You can’t go to a prom without a corsage,” he says with a smile.

 

Hugo looks down at the green flower and can feel his heart skip a beat. Green carnation. There's a green carnation pinned to his chest. It's beautiful, absolutely lovely, but there's no way he could miss it's meaning. Damien knows too, of course he does. No gay man with an interest in the Victorian era and flowers could not know the story behind green carnations.

 

There's no stopping the blush that burns Hugo's cheeks as stares down at the flower, or the sudden burst of hope that fills him. If this means what he thinks it means this could be the start of something very special.

 

"Does this flower mean anything?" he asks Damien, trying to sound as nonchalant as he can, as if the butterflies in his stomach from earlier aren't whipping up a whirlwind of anxiety in anticipation for what he'll say. He can’t just start in with the confessions, after all, he has to know for sure.

 

Damien had a feeling he would be asked, knowing what he does about flowers. He’s noticed that people have a tendency to point to a random flower when they’re out and about and ask him what it’s meaning is. He doesn’t mind the trivia, so as soon as Hugo asks he launches into his prepared speech.

 

“The carnations symbolizes distinction and divnity,” he says with a proud smile- which isn’t a _lie_ , at least. “Carnations are called dianthus, which translates to ‘flower of the gods’ in latin. They’re a symbol of fascination, and originally were worn to respect the gods.”

 

He sweeps a lock of hair behind Hugo’s ear. “In your case, you are a chaperone of a dance. You have the power to giveth and taketh away from the young prom-goers. That essentially makes you their prom god. I thought it was clever.”

 

Hugo smiles, hoping it doesn't look too strained. He hadn't known that about carnations. His knowledge of flowers was almost exclusively reserved to green carnations and the few tidbits he'd picked up from Damien over the course of their friendship. For example, he now knew the lilacs he had growing outside his house mean youthfulness or something like that. But he had been so sure of the meaning of green carnations, was he mistaking it for another flower?

 

"It's lovely," He says, feeling a little silly and a little disappointed. He'll look it up to be sure when he gets home but he's glad he didn't say anything, just in case he is wrong.

 

“You must tell me how the prom goes,” Damien says, helping Hugo back to his feet and walking him towards the door. “A boy broke his knee at my prom attempting to break dance, something strange always happens. And don’t be nervous, the high schoolers won’t bite you. They’ll be far too preoccupied with biting eachother.”

 

Part of him wishes he could go along with Hugo, but he’s not a chaperone, and with only an hour to the start of the dance, it’s much too short notice to try and sign up to be one. As charming as the fantasy of slow dancing with Hugo at a prom is, it’s just not realistic. “Don’t eat anything any of the kids bring,” is his final piece of advice as he waves goodbye to Hugo, heading down the walk to his car.

 

As Damien had predicted, something weird did happen at prom, as it always did. Luckily no one was hurt but towards the end of the night some of the seniors had decided to stage a protest over the food being served not being 100% vegan and it ended with a small food fight comprising of mini quiches, pretzels, and cream puffs breaking out. But otherwise, it was a decent night.

 

Hugo got home around one in the morning and fell almost immediately asleep. It wasn't until the next day when he spotted the green carnation still pinned to his jacket hanging on the back of his door that he remembered his plan to look up the flower's meaning. It only took a few minutes to confirm what he had thought in the first place. What Damien had said about carnations in general was true, but green carnations carried their own specific meaning.

 

It was Oscar Wilde who popularized wearing a green carnation, and it came to symbolize homosexuality, and gay love specifically, in the thick of the victorian era. To give another man a green carnation was a secret, private way to tell him you held a candle for him, and it was a secret well kept among the gay communities in that era. Hugo knows confidently now, there’s absolutely no way Damien wouldn’t know that- but the idea of barging down his door and immediately dipping the man for a kiss is still too intimidating on the very off chance that he’s wrong.

 

Instead he starts concocting a plan. A response to Damien's secret admission, and a little revenge for thinking Hugo would be so ignorant to the flower's meaning.

 

He spends a few minutes writing a letter, thanking the other man for all his help with the prom and inviting him over for tea. He's careful to keep it light, to give nothing away about his plan in the letter and after two drafts he finally puts it in Damien’s mailbox. Knowing the response will take a little while he uses the time to go into to town and pick up the next stage of his plan.

 

Damien is thrilled to find the letter, and responds immediately that he’ll be there at the time Hugo suggested. The very next day he dresses in his finest waistcoat and walks across the cul-de-sac to Hugo’s house, pressing the doorbell.  He says hello to Ernest, who was in the process of going out the door to perform whatever delinquent act he's up to for the evening, but he just shrugs at Damien and sticks his earbuds in.

 

“How he manages to wrangle her on a single leash will never cease to amaze me,” Damien chuckles as he enters the house. “Good afternoon, Hugo, I trust you’re well?”

 

"I survived the sea of hormones that is prom, if that's what you mean." Hugo laughs, leading Damien into the living room. He already has tea waiting on a tray on the coffee table, with cream and sugar waiting. His tea set is not nearly as fancy as Damien's but Ernest had hand painted it when he was five and Hugo is always proud when he has a chance to take it out and use it.

 

"I have some finger sandwiches in the kitchen too, I'll bring them out in a moment." he says, gesturing for Damien to take a seat.

 

Waiting for Hugo’s return, Damien inspects the tea set with a fond smile. Hugo is such a good father, he thinks to himself, imagining how proud Ernest must have been to present that to his dad when he painted it. There’s a stick figure and labeled painting of their family on the side, Hugo’s ex included, but Damien imagines that the nostalgia of Ernest painting the set must outweigh the heartache of remembering his ex. Damien doesn’t actually know much about Hugo’s ex- he’s never even met him.

 

Lost in thought, he nearly startles when Hugo comes back into the room. “Did anything exciting happen?” he asks, tearing his eyes away from the set.

 

"In the kitchen? No, not really." Hugo teases, setting down the plate of sandwiches. "Prom was exciting. Caught a few kids trying to smuggle in some gin, another few sneaking out to have sex in the bushes. Some of the activists started a food fight at the end of the night."

 

He sits down and crosses his legs, fingers drumming against his knee nervously. "Help yourself to anything you'd like." he says, gesturing to the tea set.

 

Damien serves himself tea the way he likes it, and nibbles on a few sandwiches while they make light conversation about the prom, how Hugo even got roped into being a chaperone to begin with, and more on what their particular proms had been like. Damien can’t help but notice that Hugo seems to be fidgeting more and more the longer they talk, glancing up at the clock on the wall.

 

“I’m sorry, are you alright?” Damien asks after several minutes have passed. “I can’t help but notice you seem nervous. Is anything wrong?”

 

Hugo laughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck. "No, nothing is wrong. I just have something to give you and I was waiting for the best time. I suppose I'm overthinking it."As he speaks he gets up and goes to the desk pushed up against the far wall. He pulls a small package out of the desk drawer and brings it over, presenting it to Damien.

 

"I noticed you were missing something from your collection of Victorian Literature. It's by one of my favorite authors." In his hands is a copy of The Happy Prince and Other Tales by Oscar Wilde.

 

“Oh!” Damien gasps as he uncovers the book, his eyes lighting up as he looks at the ornate cover. “Oh, Hugo, this is beautiful! You’re right, I don’t have this- is it a special edition? Oh I love it!”

 

He looks up with a grin, but his face falls when he sees Hugo’s expression. He looks anxious, almost pained, nervous, like something’s wrong--

 

And then it hits him. Oscar Wilde. The green carnation. His cover is absolutely blown.

 

“Oh. _Oh_.” his face relaxes into shock, and there’s a moment of tense silence between them before his face heats up and he starts to babble. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I mean I didn’t mean- I mean I did mean- I didn’t not mean- it was just- it’s a flower- I wasn’t- I wanted to- I just wanted- I’m so sorry--”

 

Hugo can't help chuckling when Damien goes bright red and starts to babble. He lets him go on for a minute, tripping over unnecessary but endearing apologies and covering his face with his hands, muffling his own words, but even that doesn't stop him. When it becomes apparent that he isn't going to stem the flow any time soon, Hugo gently pries Damien's hands away from his face, cutting off the slipstream of apologies. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to Damien's lips, hoping to all the saints in heaven and anyone else watching that he's reading this right.

 

Damien stops breathing, he’s pretty sure his heart stops beating, too. His hands go slack in Hugo’s grip, his jaw stops moving, all the apologies dry up on his tongue. He stares at the beautiful, uncertain man kneeling in front of his chair, his expression reverent and adoring.

 

“I-” Hugo starts, and that single sound breaks the paralyzing spell Damien is under. He surges forward, throwing his arms over Hugo’s shoulders and slanting his mouth against his. He’s caught in the middle of two warring emotions- shame that his clever secret confession hadn’t been so clever or secret after all, and joy that he’d been caught. Not only caught, but reciprocated- it was beyond his wildest fantasies.

 

Hugo wraps his arms around Damien's waist and holds him tight against his chest, so glad he'd been right and that this beautiful, eccentric, wonderful man somehow has come to have feelings for him of all people. They kiss until they're both breathless and when they pull apart for air Hugo continues to hold him, loving how easily he can envelop the other man in his arms.

 

They’re both kneeling on the floor now, clinging to eachother, and Damien immediately begins to laugh-cry, eyeliner streaking down his face in grey lines as fat tears roll down his chin. “I didn’t think- I never thought- this would be possible- I’m not- I don’t-”

 

He’s not a real man are the words that go unspoken, the insecurity that has gripped his chest for most of his life now. He’s always convinced himself that he’d have to settle for someone who would only put up with calling him by the right pronouns, to be desired by a man, and a gay man at that- a man who’s only romantic interest is other men- it’s beyond anything the miserable voice in the back of his head ever let him hope for.

 

"Damien Bloodmarch. You are one of the most remarkable men I've ever met. Your passion for your interests, your intelligence, your pursuit of knowledge are qualities I could only dream of in a lover, along with your sweetness." Hugo says before placing a kiss on Damien's nose. "And you are an incredibly handsome man. I'm astounded you would ever have an interest in me."

 

For once, Damien’s all out of flowery words. He just lays his face against Hugo’s shoulder and cries, squeezing his arms around his neck as tight as he can. The front door suddenly opens and Hugo looks up over his shoulder into the face of a very wide-eyed Ernest. Damien immediately scrambles back up into his chair, dabbing frantically at his face with his cloak.

 

“Ernest! Terribly sorry, I was just- you see, we were-”

 

"Damien and I are going to go out for dinner, I think." Hugo tells Ernest, looking to Damien to confirm. "We have a lot to talk about. You can watch the house for a few hours right? Or should I call Robert and see if you can go over there?"

 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay alone,” Ernest says. He looks suspiciously between Hugo and Damien, brows furrowing. “You uh.……… okay?”

 

Damien barely gets out a ‘yes’ before Ernest instantly replies with “cool” and walks off. He looks back up at Hugo, face wet, makeup smeared, cheeks red and expression dopey. He’ll have to redo his makeup before they go out, and he’d rather wear something more evening appropriate- but he can barely string two thoughts together while looking at Hugo’s face. He can’t believe this is happening, it feels so surreal, to be meeting Hugo’s eyes and still feeling the echo of the pressure of his mouth on Damien’s.

 

He realizes he’s getting ahead of himself when he already imagines meeting Hugo’s parents, introducing Hugo to his parents, moving in together- it doesn’t feel so unrealistic, they’ve already known eachother for years, and if Hugo’s been building up feelings for him for half as long as he has for the teacher, it won’t be long before this turns into something serious- but for this moment all he wants to do is be right here.

 

He takes Hugo by the face again, drawing him forward for another kiss. He swears he can still smell the sweet scent of that green carnation.


End file.
